Wednesday, February 1, 2017

If I tossed your dog shit comment, that means it was dog shit

Comment moderation is on, people. Make peace with that fact. If I think you're trying some lame ass shit to get me to moderate a comment and show it, I'm tossing it.

My view on dumbfuck commenters is the same as what they tell you about old meat in your fridge: when in doubt, throw it out.

Monday, December 12, 2016

A Great Attention Whore, or THE GREATEST Attention Whore EVER? You decide

It's been a while since I've posted anything. That's mostly a case of why repeat the same shit. It took time, but . . . NOVELTY IS UPON US! I spent the better part of this weekend working over a single, large social group in a club setting. Infiltrating a large group isn't usually my preferred play, but this was a case where I could see an easy path forward.

The Group

The group itself consists of six women, three guys (not including me, because I'm-an-outsider-FTW). One of the guys is an ex-boyfriend of one of the chicks who just hasn't figured that fact out yet. The other two are the worst form of beta orbiters imaginable. Of the chicks, I'd say one is legitimately high-end hot, one is a full point behind her, two are legitimately cute, one is okay, and one is a legitimate slag who starts shit (God bless the commitment of female-centered groups to keeping one genuine "why do you even talk to her" chick in the group).

The females I'd count as a solid 8, two 7s, a 6, a 5, and a soft 3.5 (I'm kindly awarding the slag an additional half point for at least being clean, dressed decently, and doing her hair -- even slags deserve an attaboy. Remember ladies: got yer hair did is a full half-point.). All three of the guys are beta enough to not count.

The Situation


The problem is that the one 7 is a monstrous attention whore. As you might guess, the two beta orbiters basically spent the whole weekend backing up dump trucks full of affirmation and pouring it on her.

She's a super-cute spinner type who, frankly, could upgrade her game a little and improve a full point. She's a skinny but not in-shape person who could easily tighten her body up and get hotter, but she's also the motor of the group. She's the one dancing with everybody, the one singing karaoke, etc. Those beer carbs giveth, and they taketh away.

To say the 8 knows her status in the group would be an understatement. The betas aren't even allowed to talk to her, and she seems to be the only one in the group who was allowed to shit test me.

The other 7 ended up being my real target. Pretty blonde girl with a big enough butt to make her self-conscious. She didn't let guys grind on her or anything the whole weekend -- and this is a majority black club, so that's some real effort on her part. Demure, well-behaved, put-together type who parked herself next to me when we went for food at the end of the second night, and she kept finding ways to quickly touch me and then pull away before it became too forward. That sort of behavior in women is the fast path to having my attention.


Enter the Attention Whore

This is the point where the Attention Whore made what I can only call the least subtle move I have ever seen a chick make. Three of us were seated along the bar while our food was coming out (me, the 8, and the blonde 7) and turned to watch people doing karaoke. Attention Whore and the orbiters were, no surprise, doing karaoke because, ya know, hell is other people. The 6, the 5, the slag and the boyfriend got lost at some point.

When my order came, I stood up, turned around and asked the bartender for some ketchup. I gamed her a little bit, we chuckled, whatever. Those nice, fun, mini practice games are always a good way to get your energy up.

I suddenly feel the Attention Whore literally pushing against me as she leans across the bar. She's parked herself in the seat I just vacated, and she's trying to achieve as much body-to-body contact as possible.

The 8 and the blonde 7 shut down instantly. All banter done. All talk done.

I literally grabbed the chair and lifted it and her a full foot away from me to convey my displeasure. One of the beta orbiters ambles over and tries meekly to game her, and I do everything in my power to redirect her bullshit toward him. Finally, I just turn and start eating because food.

Did I say the Attention Whore wasn't subtle? She moves back over, but this time settles for elbow-to-elbow contact. (For those who think women don't do game, just remember this chick was recalibrating!) She leans in, asks if she can have some of my french fries. There's like one-quarter of the GDP of Idaho sitting there, so I told her have at.

Sure enough, the shit-testing 8 doesn't miss a beat. "Are you really just gonna let her eat your fries like that?"  I said something to the effect of "I don't need all of that. She's doing me a favor." (Apparently, you can fail a shit test by not displaying an appropriate level of food aggression! Next time I guess I'll just have to snap a 95-pound girl's wrist to make sure the queen bee knows I'm a legit insanity wolf.)

I resume eating, and for grins I start talking up the beta orbiter and no one else. All bitches are on lockdown until further notice.

Did I say the Attention Whore wasn't subtle? She taps me on the shoulder and starts trying to feed me. I wave her off and say, "Don't get weird." (Yes, I dropped a People of Earth joke on her.)

Both of the beta orbiters are moving in, and I try to work them into the conversation in order to enforce the freeze out. The blonde 7 senses the opening and tries to get back in the game, but don't worry because the Attention Whore isn't subtle. She gets up for a second, adjusts her chair and sits down facing the blonde while simultaneously forcing ass-to-crotch contact with me. A minute later, the 8 cuts between the blonde and the Attention Whore. The blonde is now literally being double-covered by the two most socially dominant females in the group.

Apparently, the 8 is very committed to her food aggression plan, because she starts taking french fries without asking and even manages to swipe a half-eaten chicken finger. I confess at this point I'm feeling rather dispirited and wondering why the fuck I deviated into group game, which is not my preferred game.

The Attention Whore now decides to grab a wad of french fries, jams them two inches away from my mouth and says, "It's not weird." My inner white trash peeks out at that moment, because I glared at her and said, "I don't know you ferfuck. It's weird." She puts the fries down and pushes her ass into me. She then offers the fries again, muttering and pouting,"It's not weird." I push her hand down, but I did give her a pretty good squeeze on the ass cheek because I'm honestly at the point where, fuck it, I'm not even the one running game at this point and I know it.


A Slag Appears


I fucking swear women can smell from a mile away when a superior member of their group is trying to ice the deal with a guy. The slag comes into the bar from outside and immediately invokes some sort of treaty obligation under the Slag-Attention Whore Axis demanding backup in her full-blown attempt to make the 5's soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend status official. This is full shit-starting five-alarm slaggery, complete with claims that he threatened to hit her.

Faced with having to abandon her positional advantage, the Attention Whore suddenly becomes the sanest and most reasonable person on earth. "Is 5 in a safe spot?" "Sure, next door at the pizza place." "Are they going anywhere?" "No." "6 is with her, right?" "Yeah." "Then leave it the fuck be."

Clearly, Henry Kissinger was right: great powers don't commit suicide to save their allies.

Don't worry, the 8 now senses her chance to fuckin ruin everything for everyone. A full demonstration of the 8's social dominance ensues, as she grabs the blonde 7 by the arm and pushes the two beta orbiters out the door to ride posse on the destruction of her friend's relationship. The Attention Whore has "dafuq" written all over her face, but once the rest of the group is outside, she follows without saying a word to me.

I ask the bartender where the bathroom is and go take a piss. Eventually I walk outside and past the pizza place. At this stage, apparently the 5 is now fighting to preserve her boyfriend's status with all the other group members in full-bore pitchfork mode. The now-ex-boyfriend sees me walking away from the pile and asks if I care if he walks with me. We get about half-a-block before the slag goes into full screaming bitch mode and draws the ex-boyfriend back into the fight. At this point, I'm prepared to amputate above the knee, so I leave him to his fate and go find my car a couple blocks away.


Autopsy


As I'm writing all of that out, I'm realizing there are other moving parts definitely in play besides the Attention Whore. Clearly I walked into a situation where the knives were already out, and I totally failed to ask the question, "What y'all holdin behind yer backs?"

I've never dealt with a group situation that got this ridiculous, but there's a sick sort of beauty to how it all unfolded. I start out feeling like I have the situation on a good track with the blonde 7, but I literally turned my back for a minute and a fuckin prairie war breaks out.

I'm not even clear what the fuckin 8 who dominated the group was trying to accomplish. I wouldn't rule out the possibility this was a case of her pissing on everyone just to remind them who the fuck is queen bee. My best guess was that she was trying to contain the two 7s and maintain an option to make a move only after she administered her shit tests.

As best I can tell, the major mistake I made was making a clear play for the blonde 7 when my assessment of her status (relatively high, though artificially inflated due to my preference for how she comported herself) did not match the group's assessment. I had her ranked 2 of 6 while the group had her ranked 3 of 6, and the group's #2, the Attention Whore, was willing to engage in carpet bombing to achieve her goal.

In short . . . "women, right?!" Or maybe it's "people are the worst." I mean, why not Seinfeld? I already have Sartre and Chekov's Gun worked into the story.

So . . . yeah . . . it takes a lot to make me publish these days, but there ya go.

Wednesday, August 5, 2015

Dear Abby needs to hire someone with game

The quote:

My husband of two years is every girl's dream man - the kindest, gentlest, most patient guy. He loves me for everything, including my flaws. I honestly believe he is the only one who could ever handle me.

So why am I cheating on him?

And the answer:

You're playing at matrimony as if it were a game instead of a deep, enduring partnership.  

Hahahahahaha!! It is a game. LOLz were had. This bitch is never gonna get her gina tingles going from this poor sad sack of a guy.

Thursday, July 9, 2015

How I see the world as a deeply uninvested male

Something that's been floating around my mind lately is the idea of how women objectify men like me, but they wish -- magically / somehow -- that a guy like me is going to come around and be nice. The entire romance novel industry is based on this premise, and like all forms of pornography, that's a clue as to how realistic it is.

A big chunk of what makes women so fucking dangerously nuts is that they think they're going to somehow magically split the difference on this one, gaining the interest of a male they see as an ideal alpha / dominant / billionaire with an 8-inch dick who can fly and then stuffing him into a container where he'll be awesome and fun and domesticated and loyal to her. Minding you, the minute he concedes to any of this, her attraction begins to drop like a rock.

With a guy like me, it's worse because I make it very clear upfront that zero concessions are going to be made. I'm not even gonna be bothered to lie to you even once in order to sleep with you. I am direct and honest about how I do things, and this leads to lots of pouting from women.

The logic on the female side is that she gains validation from every concession that an alpha male makes in order to sleep with her. That is what makes me a deeply infuriating guy: you're not getting a single concession from me. You can take that snatch of yours anywhere you damned well please, because I am not making any concessions. Pussy just ain't that important to me.

The cosmic joke of this is that women are wired to freak the fuck out when a guy does that. The lack of a single concession by a prospective mate makes him more attractive. And there are women who get completely jacked on that feedback loop. No concessions raises attraction, and then the higher attraction level makes her want to push harder.

The problem is that there's no exit from that loop. That's where I end up dealing with women who end up screaming at me, shoving me and having to be escorted away by security. They don't know how to jump out of the loop, so they basically escalate until they're left with no remaining option except violence and threats.

Something that's hard for me to get across to women is this: if you like me, hooray, but forget trying to make me do or be anything you want me to be. Just skip it, because it's not happening.

As I said, what's hilarious is that women lose there shit when a guy treats them this way. I was messaged a couple weeks ago on a kink website by a chick. I looked at her profile, saw she wasn't into anything I was really into and I told her that there's nothing there and she needed to move on. Also, if I'm being 100-percent honest, she could have used to lose 30 pounds and 5 years.

Did she move on?

Oh, hell no! Instead, she responds by telling me how much that raises her interest. I tell her several times, not gonna happen. That leads to attempts at initiating a longer conversation. I'll humor that as long as its not completely retarded. Then eventually she drops "aren't you gonna try me before you deny me?"

OMFG. I can't imagine being so hard-up that I'd ever say anything like that to anyone.

I will say that it never helps that I tend to go soft on women who aren't at the top of the heap in looks. I'll never drop a pure "fuck off" on them. I do this for the same reason you wouldn't punch a retarded kid: it's not cool to be mean to those who can't really defend themselves.

My point, ultimately, is that women go ga-ga over uninvested men, and then they get pissed when it turns out that univested men tend not to get very invested.

I think it's great that you want to feel good about yourself. Have at. I just think it might be a little wiser to find someone other than me to scratch that itch.

Sunday, May 24, 2015

Quelle surprise! PUA marketing assholes complain about holes in their walled garden!

For reasons that fall readily under the headings of "unhealthy interests" and "trying to stay hip," I manage to poke my head into some of the bigger blogs in the right-wing cryosphere manosphere, PUA, men's rights, whatever other flavor of the week / rebaranding bullshit that's going on.

One complaint that I've always had with these fucks is their perverse commitment to monetization. For people involved in a jihad to save humanity from feminists and libruls, they sure do spend a lot of time selling you books and other bullshit. You'd think these sort of ideologues would be funneling that money back into saving civilization, but . . .

Let's just be honest. The whiny manosphere stuff is a sales pitch modeled on the early days of right-wing talk radio. That's why they're complicit in selling self-contradicting bullshit. "Women are sloots!" "Sloots are bad!" "Women only want relationships!" "Men should be plowing sloots!" "The loss of patriarchical households is ruining cibble-luh-say-shun!"

You'll note that consistency of message means nothing to these guys. Thematic and even ideological purity can get tossed right over the side of the HMS Manosphere if it means ginning up the outrage monkeys and getting more people clicking. They are, at the end of the day, crass marketers.

And now they're pissed that a lot of people are seeing the cracks in their walled garden business model and escaping. To wit, this "neomasculinity" bullshit from RooshV:

The red pill is a non-commercial version of PUA with cultural observations thrown in. They hold firmly and obsessively onto rigid dogmas such as the alpha/beta male dichotomy to explain all male behavior while basing their “truths” upon a shaky foundation of pop evolution. Because it has no council of elders to guide the ideology, it is now being steered by the mob and watered down—or outright trolled—by entryists who are blue pill.

The bolding is mine.

Here's the thing with these dweebs . . . their formulate is astonishingly easy to replicate. In fact, you can readily start a subreddit and start pimping it, which is exactly what happened. And, of course, people figure out that they don't need the books and they don't need all of the right-wing political bullshit. Pretty soon, the audience has escaped the walled garden.

Like all marketing assholes, their solution is . . . fucking rebranding.

If you don't like the conversation, change it. And that's what they're aiming to do.

Isn't it funny how quickly they get pissed when all their little jihadis run off without any guidance from their central revolutionary council? It's almost like keeping everyone in the walled garden and hooked up to the marketing machine is more important than the message itself. Gee. What are the chances that a right-wing leaning group of marketers might just be exploitative assholes soft peddling angry ideology in order to extract money from gullible and angry guys?

So, rebranding it is. Of course, it is. What else would it be? Allow the young guys to go around without their paid gurus? BAH! That's very unlikely.

Let's be realistic. Most guys who amble into PUA / Red Pill / men's rights /  manosphere stuff do so to get laid. The whole ball of wax is just cognitive behavioral therapy for people who are too proud to go to a therapist.

Girls are scary? Approach. See? It's not so bad.

That's not a massive revelation. It's Cognitive Behavioral Therapy 101. Identify a fear, then minimize the patient's anxiety by allowing them to learn that the experience is not going to be the end of the world.

In that regard, by bringing basic cognitive behavioral approaches to a mass of young men who are never going to visit a therapist without being ordered to do so by a judge, they're doing a massive service. Who gives a fuck how these guys take that first step as long as they take it, right?

The problem is that the marketers know most of the guys bail out from the rest of the program once the basic approach anxiety problem is resolved. That hurts the bottom line.

One of the creepiest things they do, in fact, is pimping the rape accusation fears of their audience. Think how perversely, fucked-uppedly cool that is?

You're selling a program for guys who are afraid of girls, right? What sells the success of the program better than, "Dude, you might be accused of rape once bag one of these sloots!"

How clever is that? And there's a wonderful push-pull. The reader in anxious and angry about the lack of available poosy, but on the other side of the equation you're also making him anxious and fearful about his possible success.

You're already selling to cognitively challenged and vulnerable audiences with this shit. These are the same guys who used to buy products to improve sexual prowess advertised in the back of titty mags back in the 1970s. Their judgment is, shall we say, often questionable.

The best part, though, is that basic cognitive behavioral therapy works. So the scam starts with something that's very scientifically valid. And that leads to the inference by the exploited party that, gosh, maybe this other stuff they say is legit, too!

It's a fascinating racket, but . . . people figure this shit out.

There's a reason a lot of people turn to the unguided forums for advice. The fact is that basic cognitive behavioral practices can be taught to anyone by anyone. Think about it. These fuckin far-right morons figured it out and passed it along, ferfucksake!

Most guys who get into this stuff want to get laid. I've seen the data on the subject. The retention rate for readership in the TRP world is fucking miserable, and a lot of the dropout rate is caused by success. Guys don't need to read all of the whiny rape accusations bullshit and the racist, anti-immigrant bullshit. They don't need the deeply anti-feminist screeds.

All they need is a soft nudge -- the cognitive behavioral nudge -- toward confronting their sexual anxieties.

That's not to say that the entire conversation is invalid. Quite the opposite. The battle of the sexes is a totally evergreen topic, and that's of course why marketers of all stripes constantly find a way back to it.

The problem, however, is that a number of the vulnerable and gullible are escaping the walled garden. They're finding free sources of information. They're learning that basic cognitive behavioral approaches to their sexual anxiety concerns are far more useful than three hundred blog posts about false rape accusations and how Hillary Clinton's cunt has an agenda set on strangling Western civilization.

My advice? Take the good, throw out the bad.

And for the love of gawd, always be aware that these motherfuckers are crass marketers.